When You Stare
by StoofinLunacy
Summary: Rachel wants Finn. Quinn wants to hurt Rachel. Finn's confused, Kurt hates high school, and poor Blaine was just looking for a bathroom. A 10 Things I Hate About You!AU. Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: When You Stare

**Rating**: PG-13 ... for now.

**Warnings**: AU. Very, very AU.

**Spoilers**: Small references to S1 and S2. Total AU to S3. Does include Cooper Anderson.

**Summary**: Rachel wants to date Finn. Quinn wants to humiliate Rachel. Finn is mostly confused, but it doesn't matter anyway because he can't date until his brother does. Which is a problem, because Kurt Hummel hates high school and any and all who inhabit it. So what does new guy Blaine Anderson have to do with all this? Well, he was just looking for a bathroom ...

**AN**: So, I don't know where this came from. One minute I was snacking on a plate of Oreos, watching one of my favorite teen films and crying over the beauty that was Heath Ledger; the next thing I know _this_ popped into my head, and suddenly I was abandoning my Oreos (which is the closest to sacrilege I will ever get) and writing the beginnings of a story. Call it fate, or nostalgia, or maybe PMS - whatever it's called, it's ended with _this_ , and I'm not quite sure what to make of _this_ yet.

Note that this story is based loosely (and I use the term "loosely" loosely) on the film _10 Things I Hate About You_ . There's a bit of badboy!Kurt in here, some newkid!Blaine, and even a hint of Anderbros. It's useless fun at best, and cracktastic drivel at worst. Turn back now if you expect Shakespeare. (Ha! See what I did there? I referenced a reference. It's, y'know ... witty. Or something.)

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><p><strong>WHEN YOU STARE: Prologue<strong>

Burt Hummel is a practical man.

He's never been one for the unwavering optimism his first wife, Elizabeth, had harbored, nor the subtle art of manipulation his son has spent the past sixteen years perfecting. Burt prefers blunt and to-the-point. An "in your face" attitude, his wife Carole teases. "Austere and inexorable," his son Kurt often describes, usually with an arched and unimpressed look to match.

Burt doesn't know much about that - he's not one for frilly words, and he has the sneaking suspicion his son has used that to his advantage on more than one occasion - but he gets the gist of it. Burt Hummel's a straight-forward thinker, and has the language to match. He doesn't pussy-foot around topics, or take too much care to coddle his words. His problem-solving skills are basic and uncomplicated: see the problem, assess the problem, fix the problem.

It's why he's so good at his job. There's only so much that can go wrong with a car's engine, and Burt prides himself on his ability to root out the core issue, and make a quick and thorough fix. He's not known as the best mechanic in Lima for nothing.

So when Carole comes to him one evening with worries about their son, Finn, and his less-than-stellar track record with dating - Burt vaguely recalls a hot tub fiasco Kurt once described as "Darwinism rearing its ugly head" - it takes less than five minutes for Burt to come up with a solution.

"This is such bullshit!"

Burt's a hell of a problem solver: that doesn't necessarily make him a popular one.

"Language!" Carole admonishes over her cutting board, glaring sternly at her son as she puts the finishing touches on the family's morning meal.

Having expected some sort of outburst, Burt watches with unconcerned amusement from his spot at the kitchen table as Finn shoots him a dark look before turning imploring eyes on his mother. "Mom, you didn't seriously agree to this - there's no way ..."

He trails off, his shoulders drooping dramatically when his mother shrugs and replies without taking her eyes off her task, "I think it's a reasonable request, Finn."

"There isn't anything reasonable about it!" Finn swoops his accusing glare between his mother and Burt furiously, nearly howling with rage when Burt picks up the morning paper and flips to the Sports Section, completely unaffected. "Burt, you can't do this, it'll be the end of my social status at McKinley, I _need_ to date girls -"

"From what last year's report cards tell me, what you need is to figure out your priorities," Burt counters as he calmly turns a page. "You're a senior, Finn. Time to start planning for the future. The girls aren't going anywhere. It won't kill you to go without 'em 'til the end of the year."

By the look on Finn's face, he very much believes otherwise. "C'mon, Burt, all the other guys at McKinley are dating -"

"All the other guys at McKinley didn't think they impregnated their girlfriends via jet stream, either." Burt sends a wry look over the top of his paper. "Got a response for that one, smart guy?"

Carole hides a giggle behind a cough, while Finn gazes mutinously at both of them.

Burt shrugs and goes back to his paper, hiding his grin from view. "Besides, not all of 'em are dating." A Finn's confused look, Burt hints, "Your brother?"

Finn rolls his eyes as he throws himself into one of the kitchen chairs. "Kurt doesn't count, no one'll go out with him."

"Thank you for that stunning vote of confidence," a sardonic voice says from the kitchen door; Burt, Carole, and Finn all turn to watch as the fourth and final member of their family joins them. Burt's chest expands with warmth and pride as he watches Kurt pause on his way to the table to peck a kiss onto Carole's cheek.

"Morning all," Kurt greets breezily as he slips into the seat across from Finn. He pats Burt's forearm affectionately before arching a look at his brother.

Finn sees the look, and hastens to explain, "Just 'cause you're the only gay kid at McKinley! I mean, I bet if there was another gay guy at school he'd totally be into you, because you're ... y'know, hot and stuff, or whatever."

Kurt snorts as he pours himself a glass of orange juice. "Always the charmer, Finn."

"Doesn't matter how charming I am, since _your dad_ won't let me date anymore!"

"Really?" Kurt's eyes glance curiously over to Burt, who grunts in affirmation. "I feel as if I owe you a fruit basket now."

"An extra piece of bacon at breakfast tomorrow'll do." Burt reaches over to ruffle his son's hair, backing off with a chuckle when Kurt ducks and pointedly slaps his hand away.

Carole joins them with the fruit salad, and Kurt helps her to dish it out. They dig into the meal, Finn letting out disgruntled grumbles every so often between massive bites of pineapple and banana.

"I don't understand why you're so upset by this," Kurt comments off-hand, after catching Finn mumble something about losing important street cred. "Far as I'm concerned, Dad's doing you a favor."

"Yeah, well." Finn slouches moodily in his seat, scowls when Carole admonishes him for it, and reluctantly straightens. "It's not like _you've_ ever dated anyone."

"Shockingly enough, the moronic ingrates at McKinley High really don't do much for me."

"Y'know, if you didn't walk around school acting like you're better than everyone, you might make some friends -"

"And if you weren't so obsessed with your image, you might come to the conclusion that _your_ own circle of groupies proves the theory of evolution still has some kinks in it -"

"Knock it off, both of you." Burt has to fight back a snort as he watches his two boys glower at each other. Kurt sniffs aloofly and takes a dainty bite of grape, while Finn huffs and stabs viciously at a strawberry. "Kurt, quit goading your brother. And Finn, lighten up, kid. I'm not asking you to take a vow of celibacy, here -"

"Though humanity _would_ thank you for it ..."

"That's enough, Kurt." Burt stares pointedly until Kurt sighs and goes back to his breakfast. Burt is a huge fan of Kurt's ruthless sarcasm, loves that his kid found a way to hold his own in a world that would love nothing more than to see him beaten down, but the murderous look on Finn's face is showing him that Kurt's merciless opinion on this subject isn't doing them any favors this morning.

"Your mom and I just wanna make sure your head's on straight, bud." Finn kicks his long legs out moodily at this, crossing his arms huffily. "It's an important year for you guys, and it'll be easier for you to focus if you're not constantly worrying about girls."

"That whole mess with Quinn your sophomore year took a lot out of you, sweetie," Carole adds, when Burt's words appear to do nothing to appease Finn. "Girlfriends and relationships are hard work, Finn. We just think you might need a bit more maturing before you're ready for them."

"Kurt scoffs, "A _bit_ more?" and quickly ducks his head when Burt levels a glare his way.

"Well, what about him?" Finn gestures across the table at Kurt, who looks blankly back. "Do the same rules apply for him, too?"

"Did you _not_ just hear me say how nobody at McKinley has the proper amount of firing synapses for me -?"

"It's a new school year," Finn points out impatiently. "Some dude who likes dudes could transfer in, you never know! One with enough synopsis fires or whatever, even."

Kurt shakes his head and clucks his tongue impatiently, "Don't be delusional, Finn -"

But Burt holds up a hand to cut Kurt off. Inspiration has struck, swiftly and unexpectedly, and the elder Hummel gazes speculatively between his two sons, thinking quickly. He wants to keep Finn focused and out of trouble this year, but more importantly he wants to keep both his kids happy. And, without getting ahead of himself, he may have just figured out a way to do both. "Finn has a point, kiddo."

Kurt rolls his eyes again, his _here we go_ gesture clear, but doesn't interrupt as Burt continues, "We're an equal opportunity household. We keep things fair and even. What goes for one son goes for the other, right?"

"Well, I assume I'm exempted from the _get a girl pregnant, and I'll knock you into next week_ rule -"

"What goes for one goes for the other," Burt repeats firmly, overriding Kurt's snark with a well-placed look. "You may very well meet someone this year, kid, as unlikely as that might be -"

"Because Lima is practically Gay City, U.S.A -"

"_As unlikely as that might be_, I don't want you wasting an opportunity to experience something everyone else your age gets to. So!" With a loud clap of his hands, Burt's effectively got every eye in the kitchen trained on him. Finn looks hopeful, Kurt skeptic. Carole just seems to be enjoying the show. Burt sends her a wink, then grins broadly. "New rule! Finn, you can start dating again ..."

"Yes!" Finn fist-pumps the air.

"... If Kurt does."

Burt watches with a chortle as Finn turns hopelessly pleading eyes on Kurt, who glances between him and Burt, chews thoughtfully on a slice of orange, and shrugs. "Might want to update the virus protection on your computer, big guy. I have a feeling you're going to be putting those bookmarked web pages to good use this year."

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>... So? Worth continuing, you think? I've got most of chapter one ready. Should be up within a few days. No idea how long this is going to be, but I can tell you I've started having dreams about perverted guidance counselors and pithy teenage banter thanks to the amount of times I've watched _10 Things _since I started writing this.

Much appreciated if you drop me a review, let me know what you think! And for anyone who follows my other story, _Falling Backwards _- do not fear. I'm puffing away on that one too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. None. Nada. Zip.

**AN:** I seriously wonder about my brain.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

The first acquaintance Blaine Anderson makes at William McKinley High School is a loud, demanding voice attached to an equally loud, demanding girl.

… Well, no. That's not completely true. Strictly speaking, if Blaine were to consider that other, brief encounter (a sharp angled-face, the barest glimmer of blue hidden behind dark sunglasses, and a stiff middle finger making it glaringly obvious Blaine's discrete glancing could use some serious improvement), then his chance meeting with the vociferous, wild-eyed female who accosts him between third period and lunch would constitute his second.

(Blaine doesn't count his sit-down with McKinley's guidance counselor earlier that morning – _Miss Pillsbury_, the highly-polished name plate sitting on her desk had read – as she had been friendly and accommodating, even marked each of Blaine's classrooms on a school map with smiley faces. She is the quintessential over-eager educator whose highest goals in life are to keep her students off hard drugs, and fill her closet with as many pastel blouse-and-sweater combos she can find. Easily the cheeriest woman Blaine's ever met, Miss Pillsbury is the very definition of _perky_, and a prime candidate to help skew his perceptions of his new school; to lure him into a false sense of security and acceptance, and ultimately leave him vulnerable for attack from the more hardened inhabitants of McKinley. This isn't Blaine's first foray into the public educating system, and though it's admittedly been a while, he's not about to be fooled again.

Her pamphlets had lent him a good chuckle, though. That was appreciated.)

But between the crudely-gesturing boy and the rapid-talking girl, Blaine's not sure which first impression he prefers, as both speak plainly of the glowing reception he can expect to _not _receive from his new classmates, and forcefully remind him of just how deeply he is in over his head. His interaction with the former had been brief and swift, a second's glance that somehow managed to leave Blaine's heart pounding and his palms sweaty; while the latter hits him like a wind storm, spinning him in circles and effectively disorienting him. Both leave Blaine feeling distinctly out of his element, and do nothing to help abate the stomach-twisting nausea that's been crawling across his neck and clogging his throat since he woke up that morning, and realized with a sickening sort of finality that this would be his first time out of uniform in over a year.

He feels _itchy _without that blazer.

Blaine's first encounter with a McKinley student (and the most ridiculously _blue_ eyes he's ever seen, god, sunglasses should be banned from school grounds with eyes like those wandering around) happens in the parking lot, but it's as he's searching for a boys' restroom three hours later that he first notices the pint-sized girl gazing narrowly at him over her friend's shoulder.

At first Blaine's too preoccupied to pay her much attention. Slushies, he's just learned, are not merely a beverage at this school, but also part of a bizarre ritual branding, and while Blaine was not the unlucky one wearing the bulls-eye on his forehead this time, the boy in the wheelchair next to him was. _That _boy, at least, seemed to have taken his humiliation in stride, had even managed a blithe comment about the syrup doing wonders for the stiffening gears in his chair, but Blaine did not fare so well. Slushied-by-proxy was not a hazard he had had the foresight to prepare for this morning, and with sticky blue now spattered against the side of his new bag and a little on his jeans, he's a bit desperate to wash out the syrup before it stains.

But the girl, whose eyes are sharp and intense, and piercing enough to have Blaine faltering to a stop in a hallway full of _strangers_, has other plans for him. Her gait is measured and quick as she side-steps her friend without a word and crosses the corridor in a beeline for Blaine, who can't think to do anything else other than smile weakly and clutch his bag a little closer to his shoulder.

When she stops, there's hardly three inches of space between them, and Blaine represses the urge to take a step back. He's never been a fan of having his personal space crowded, particularly by girls who look at him like he's an especially interesting specimen up for dissection, but if there's one thing instilled more strongly in him than survival instincts, it's his manners – one of the few aspects of himself he can thank his mother for. So instead of fleeing Blaine forces himself still, fixes a well-practiced smile into place, and takes comfort in the fact he's not looking _up _during the confrontation.

For once.

"You're new." So preamble is not a thing at this school. Good to know. Blaine blinks at the bluntness, watches as the girl's head cocks to the side in an alarming parody of a bird of prey, and has to swallow down a nervous twitch.

"Yeah," he manages with an embarrassed laugh that comes out more high-pitched than he would've liked. The girl's eyebrows inch up her forehead as she spies the mess on his bag, and Blaine inwardly winces at the awesome first impression he's presenting. He shifts his bag on his shoulder, rubs some wayward slushy syrup from his fingers, and holds out a hand. "I mean, hi – I'm Blaine."

She doesn't take his hand. Doesn't remove her eyes from his face. It's making Blaine feel very exposed, his hand outstretched uselessly between them, people jostling his shoulder as they hurry to their next class. As the seconds tick awkwardly by, his stomach starts squirming. He can't help but wish she would stop staring so squinty-eyed at him, that she would take a step back or ten and give him some room to breathe, because he's surrounded by people he doesn't know, whose movements he can't predict, and so far his first day here has not been promising. The students around him are apathetic at best, that indecipherable classroom map Miss Pillsbury gave him has symbols on it he's almost positive are Russian, he has raspberry syrup dripping down his pants and – god, that nacho cheese smell permeating the air is kind of overwhelming, why does he not remember public school smelling like this? – Today of all days is _not _a good one to be testing his nerve endurance, and this girl has a feel to her that just screams _sociopathic tendencies_. Blaine has half a mind to mime a seizure and find the quickest route to the nurse, but unfortunately he doesn't know the first thing about faking epilepsy, plus the fact Cooper will never let him live it down if he fakes ill because of someone who's half a foot shorter than him, even if she _does _have Annie Wilkes eyes –

"Rachel Berry." A small hand slips into his own, and Blaine pulls himself out of his own head and blinks back into focus, remembers with a jolt he's in the middle of an introduction, blinks again when he glances between the tight grip slowly numbing his fingers and its deceptively petite owner. She's still staring up at him, though now she's added an over-bright and deranged smile into the mix; a smile that speaks of both over-confidence and determination, with just a hint of desperation peeking around her eyes.

It's not a comforting combination of looks, to say the least.

The girl – Rachel – continues, "You may have heard about me. I'm well-known in most show choir circles." She leans in as she says this, her eyes widening almost meaningfully.

Blaine assumes that look is meant to be reassuring, but he can't help thinking Rachel's eyes appear far more frightening when popped out like that. He stares for a breath, feels an uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck when Rachel continues to lean in closer to him, and tries to retract his hand without much success.

Rachel, as it turns out, is unsuspectingly strong for someone wearing a squirrel on her sweater.

But as her last sentence processes, a small part of Blaine lights up hopefully. Crazy eyes or not, Blaine may have just found his in at this school. "Show choir? Wow, what a coincidence, I was lead singer for the singing group at my old school, the Dalton Academy Warble …"

He trails off uncertainly when Rachel lets out a squeal of triumph, as though Blaine's just admitted to something she long suspected. An odd reaction, he thinks, for simply acknowledging a mutual love of singing, but he doesn't voice his opinion out loud. There's something off about Rachel's gaze, a crackling intensity that's adding a foreboding sparkle, and it has Blaine biting his tongue. The way Rachel's watching him makes him feel as though every secret he's ever held is written all over his face in stark, bold letters, and at this point he thinks calling Rachel out on her questionable sanity is not the healthiest of options for him.

He watches warily as Rachel's eyes flicker eagerly over his hair, sweep down beneath his chin where currently rests his favorite bow-tie (Cooper had mocked him heavily for it, but it simply proved too much to handle, saying good-bye to both the blazer and neckware all in one go). He sees the way her expression slowly transforms from contemplative to downright devious as her gaze rakes downwards toward his bare ankles and polished shoes, and that really can't be a good sign, her smirk is seriously starting to unnerve him, and maybe having an exit-strategy forming at this point wouldn't be the worst of ideas …

Suddenly and without warning, Rachel's fingers tighten against his. With a sharp yank and a strangled yelp Blaine's brought down the six inches difference between their heights, his feet stumbling at the sudden movement, bag bouncing ungainly between his shoulder and the locker behind him. Blaine splutters and jerks, flinching helplessly at the tight grip Rachel has on him, his eyes darting around to ensure there's witnesses for when this girl shivs him with a nail file.

Which is a ridiculous thought, the logical side of Blaine knows; his parents would never _knowingly _send him to a school filled with miniature tweed-adorned psychopaths roaming the halls. He was jumping to conclusions, assuming Rachel was out to physically maul him. She probably just has skewed views on personal boundaries – grew up with a free-spirited mother, probably – and his mind firmly instructs him not to panic even as he mentally shuffles the girl clutching him from the _mildly alarming but mostly harmless _category of crazy, to _dear god, do not piss this woman off_.

"You," Rachel hisses against his ear, her tone as breathless as her eyes are manic, "are _perfect_."

Blaine gapes at her in silence. Perfect, Rachel said. Perfect for what, he can't fathom. His first instinct is public humiliation, but that could just be past experience and the healthy dose of paranoia he's been carrying around with him talking. Rachel doesn't even _know _him; she can't possibly be out to get him already, right? Blaine isn't optimistic enough to think Rachel means study-buddy either, though – perhaps she's a drug dealer?

Blaine's eyes widen at the startling thought. Was he to be her new cart horse? She really didn't seem the type, but hell, Blaine doesn't know the first thing about public school deviants and their suppliers; she could be a marijuana overlord for all he knew.

As a myriad other possibilities fly through Blaine's mind (_homework lacky, bodyguard, black market organ donor, virginal sacrifice or, oh god, boyfriend material_), Rachel keeps talking, her words speeding up the more fervent she becomes.

"You're shorter than I'd hoped – how tall are your parents? Have you had your growth spurt yet? When did you start puberty? Never mind." She waves away her own invasive questions, and instead returns her attention to Blaine's wardrobe. Blaine fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny as Rachel takes in his outfit, the hand not gripping vice-like onto his fingers rubbing absent-mindedly at her chin.

She hums thoughtfully and says, "There's no doubt your clothing taste is _unique_, but workable; almost trying too hard, but still tidy and well-maintained. It shows you're conscientious of how you present yourself to others, which is always a plus."

The snarkier, far-less-polite side of Blaine balks at the thought of receiving fashion advice from a girl with the silhouette of a woodland creature stretched across her chest. The humbler, _self-preservation is key _part of him remembers that only the crazies get away with dressing like that in high school, and refrains from commenting.

Rachel's gaze rises, and she clicks her tongue pityingly. "Frankly speaking, though, that hair needs some serious work –" this comment is met with an offended scowl before Blaine thinks better of it – "but your physique is satisfying enough." She squeezes his bicep experimentally, lets out a pleased noise at the firmness she feels there, before lowering her hand as though to pinch his …

_Jesus, who forgot to teach this girl about personal space_? Blaine yelps indignantly and swats her hand away from his backside, feels his face flush hotly when a group of passing students shoots him funny looks. He smiles feebly back even as he tries to discreetly pull away from Rachel, because clearly she is unbalanced in some critical way and sudden movement is probably a big _no-no _where she's concerned, but Rachel holds onto him easily. Almost effortlessly.

It makes Blaine feel a little pathetic, actually.

"Nice firm buttocks, your eyes are suitably dreamy …" Rachel's appraising him like a farmer would a potential new heifer, and for one wild second Blaine wonders if next she'll be asking him to turn his head and cough. But she only nods once, succinctly. "Yes, I think you'll do nicely."

There is approximately fourteen seconds where Blaine just _stares_, preoccupied as he is with searching for a tactful way to let this girl down gently. While he's not one hundred percent certain Rachel's coming on to him (_prays _she's not, at least), he's not taking the risk. Rachel seems the type of girl to hold a grudge, and Blaine doesn't underestimate her ability to have his balls on a platter if he steps too far out of line.

The unpredictability of women truly is a terrifying thing. He doesn't understand how his brother's managed to survive for so long.

There's more jostling, and suddenly another presence pops up by Blaine's elbow. It's Rachel's friend, the one over whose shoulder Rachel first spied Blaine, and Blaine watches with no little trepidation as this second girl – pretty, with an oval face, long dark hair, bright green eye-liner, and an alarming amount of black lace covering her arms – eyes him with interest before turning to Rachel and saying conversationally, "Don't even try it."

The speed with which Rachel switches from maniacal psychopath to confused innocent leaves Blaine feeling both winded and grudgingly impressed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"… Uh-huh." The new girl levels a _you're not fooling anyone, sister _sort of look Rachel's way, before addressing Blaine with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about her. If it's any consolation, she's usually not this scary."

Blaine wants to hold up his hands in a _no judgment _gesture but, as it were, Rachel's still clinging possessively to him, and frankly he's already beginning to worry whether or not he'll ever regain full use in those fingers again.

"I'm Tina." Tina smiles brightly and sticks out a hand, then glares until Rachel, with a long-suffering sigh, releases her grip on Blaine.

Blaine pushes through the unpleasant tingling as blood flow is regained, musters up a smile, "Blaine," and they shake. He'll never admit it, but the relief he feels when Tina lets go instead of following Rachel's footsteps by manhandling him is staggering. It's a comfort, learning at least _someone _in this school isn't hostile and/or severely unhinged.

Rachel has let go of his hand at Tina's insistence, but with what appears great reluctance. Blaine feels his back hit the bank of lockers behind him as Rachel crowds into his space deliberately, attention rapt on his face, and again Blaine wonders what it is exactly this girl has planned for him.

It's not just him who wonders. Tina's watching Rachel with narrowed eyes, and when she peers up at Blaine (just how shell-shocked does his expression look? Is it obvious he's not wholly convinced virginal sacrifice is off the table?) it's with a concerned frown.

"Rachel, what did you _say _to him?"

"Nothing." Rachel smooths a hand down the front of her skirt and sniffs primly.

"Really? Because he looks as if you're two steps away from branding him on the forehead with your initials."

"Oh god, that's not a thing here, is it?" Blaine blurts out before he can stop himself. The two girls pause to ogle at him, and Blaine hunches back into the lockers defensively. They seem shocked by the suggestion, but honestly, after the morning he's had, he wouldn't be the least surprised.

Rachel recovers first. "We're not a _zoo_, Blaine," she admonishes him, as though he is completely out of his mind to even think such a thing. Blaine doesn't miss the irony. She clicks her tongue and adds, somewhat haughtily, "Some of us are civilized."

"_Some _being the operative word," Tina adds, with a not-so-subtle thumb jerk in Rachel's direction.

Rachel catches the action, and crosses her arms, offended. "I was only _trying _to be welcoming, to lend my aid to a student in need –"

"Mm-hm. Sure you were." Tina turns back to Blaine. "So did she get to her hare-brained idea yet?"

Blaine glances between the two girls, more confused than ever. "Um … no?"

An impatient huff. "Only because _someone _didn't stay away until the agreed upon five minutes –"

"He looked like he was about to pass out, I couldn't leave him powerless to your deranged ramblings."

"I was sealing the deal!"

"Rachel, you were _terrifying_ him."

"Can you blame me? _Look _at him, Tina!" Her voice is back to breathlessly feverish as she latches onto Blaine's shoulder and tugs him forward, closer to Tina, shaking his shirt back and forth beneath her nose to emphasize her point. "He's exactly what we've been looking for!"

"Rachel …" Tina sighs tiredly as she extracts Blaine's shirt from the other's grip with difficulty, helps Blaine right himself. She sends an exasperated look at Rachel over Blaine's shoulder. "You don't know that."

"He sings." Rachel's tone is adamant, stubborn. "He admitted as much to me less than a minute ago." Her voice drops to a hushed, frantic whisper. "He knows what _show choir _is."

Tina's eyes slide, almost wearily, over to Blaine. She bites her lip, then shakes her head again. "That doesn't prove anything."

There's a brief moment where Blaine wonders whether he should feel insulted with the way the two girls are discussing him as though he's not there. He dismisses the thought quickly, though, because Rachel's still eyeing him like a particularly juicy meal ticket, so really – the less he knows, the better.

"What about the bowtie, hmm?"

"Lots of people wear ties, Rachel –"

"Without wearing _socks_?"

Tina's eyes skirt down to Blaine's shoes, and she concedes, "Okay, yeah, that one's harder to explain …"

Rachel's foot begins to tap-tap-tap, a clear sign of her growing impatience. "Oh, just admit it, already," she finally bursts out, her entire body practically thrummingwith poorly suppressed excitement. Tina takes a step back, while Blaine shrinks helplessly into the lockers. "The singing, the above-average hygiene, the _hair _– he_. _Is_. Perfect_!"

It isn't until nearly ten minutes later, after the warning bell rings and he's seated at a rickety plastic table in the middle of a crowded lunch room with Rachel and Tina ensconcing him on either side, that Blaine finally learns just what exactly it is he's so perfect for.

"We'd almost given up hope, before you arrived," Rachel explains as she deftly applies a Tide-to-Go stick to Blaine's stained bag.

(She'd tried for his jeans first, but Blaine had slapped her hands away, deciding he would much rather purchase a new pair of pants than let Rachel's hands anywhere near his unmentionables).

"_We _haven't done anything," Tina cuts in sharply between bites of veggie pizza.

Rachel rolls her eyes, "Fine. _I'd _almost given up hope. _Tina _was just the one who planned it all out –"

"Making one obscure film reference does not equate to 'planning it all out.'"

"There is nothing obscure about saying 'maybe you should pull a Richard Gere and pay somebody,'" Rachel shoots back, and Tina concedes this with a self-satisfied, "Well, _someone _has to be the brains in this operation."

"Uh," Blaine raises a hand before Rachel can fire back a retort, "quick question. Does that make me Julia Roberts?"

"Aha, see!" Rachel jabs a fork terrifyingly close to Blaine's eye. "He knows _Pretty Women_! More evidence that my instincts are, as always, never wrong."

He was afraid to ask, truly he was, but: "Instincts?"

"Gaydar," Tina clarifies, then thumps helpfully on Blaine's back when he chokes on his lemonade.

Oh hell. His ears are ringing, and his eyesight's turning splotchy. Oh hell oh hell oh hell _oh_ _hell_. "G-gaydar?" he sputters, breathing in harshly and choking again as what feels like all the viable air gets sucked out of his lungs.

No, he thinks as the panic settles in, not again. Not before he has a chance to settle in. Tina can't mean what Blaine thinks she means, she _can't_. He must have misunderstood. Yes, that's it. He misheard. It hasn't even been a full day yet, and Blaine's been careful, so _so _careful, it's impossible that they could know, it's _too soon _for anyone to know, unless …

Christ, was Cooper actually _right _about the bowtie?

Tina seems to sense Blaine's growing panic, because she's quick to say, "There's no judgment from us if you are, Blaine. We sort of assumed, but … I mean, this may be Ohio, but we _are _in Glee club, so–"

"Oh he's gay," Rachel interjects confidently. "My senses are very accurate." She munches unconcernedly on her vegan lasagna as Blaine slowly asphyxiates beside her, blithely ignoring the dirty looks Tina shoots her as she helps Blaine remember how to breathe. "I can see through the strongest of public personas. I had Ricky Martin pegged before _Livin' la Vida Loca's _second verse, and that was when I was only six." She shrugs and takes another bite. "My dads say it's genetic."

"Yes, you heard that right," Tina answers Blaine's dumbfounded look. "She's not actually as offensive as she sounds."

"And what's the matter with being honest?" Rachel drops her fork and presses a hand to her heart, looking genuinely wounded. "It's not like I'm _wrong_, am I?"

This last part she directs at Blaine, whose face begins to heat under the scrutiny. "Um," he tugs a finger under his collar uncomfortably, glances furtively around them for wandering ears, resists the urge to slouch in his seat. Briefly he wonders whether he can get away with denying it, to allow himself at least a fighting chance of not being labeled and tormented the rest of the year, but he recalls Rachel's crippling grip on his hand earlier in the hallway, and decides diversionary tactics are the way to go. "What was that thing you were saying about Richard Gere, again?"

Tina sighs, "Here we go," as Rachel's expression turns ominous.

"It's all a part of my master plan," she informs Blaine, her eyes alight and voice breathless with poorly contained enthusiasm. She scoots in closer after a suspicious glance around the lunchroom, and lowers her voice conspiratorially. "I am on a mission to win the heart of one Finn Christopher Hudson."

"Her ex," Tina adds for Blaine's benefit.

"We had a brief yet passionate affair last year," Rachel allows almost reluctantly. Her expression darkens abruptly when she adds, "Before he was seduced by that wretched Quinn Fabray …"

"_His _ex," Tina supplies cheerfully, and Blaine's starting to think a visual aid may be necessary to help him remember all of this.

"Yes, _thank you_, Tina," Rachel says with a glare. Tina winks cheekily back. "They broke up again last year during our junior prom – I personally believe my glorious rendition of _Jar of Hearts _was a deciding factor in helping Finn to see the error of his ways –"

"Never mind the fact _Quinn_ dumped _Finn_ because they didn't win Prom King and Queen."

"They were never meant to be together, and that only proves it!" Rachel snaps furiously. "Quinn is self-involved and manipulative –" Tina mouths _says the pot about the kettle _at Blaine, who hides a chuckle behind a cough, "– and she _never_ appreciated Finn for what he was. She was _deplorable _to him, she _used _poor Sam to make Finn jealous –"

"Quinn's _other _ex," Tina side-mouths to Blaine. "New kid last year, Finn's rival quarterback, dated a lesbian briefly …"

"– and with everything that happened between her and Puck our sophomore year …"

"Finn's best friend, Quinn's baby daddy –"

Blaine presses fingers into his temples. His head is starting to hurt.

"But none of that matters anymore," Rachel declares with a wave of a hand. The excitement is visibly building in her again as she focuses her attention back on Blaine, her eyes wide and shining. "Quinn is no longer a threat, and with you in the picture now, I'm one step closer to fulfilling my biggest dream! Well, second biggest dream," she corrects herself. "But since my rise to Broadway fame will be both rapid and inevitable, at this point in time I'm much more concerned with winning Finn's affections."

As Rachel pauses to draw in a breath, Tina shakes her head sadly and returns to her pizza. Blaine, however, doesn't know what to think. On one hand, it really is a relief for him, learning that Rachel has her sights set on someone who is decidedly _not him_. On the other hand, however –

"Why exactly do you need me?"

For the briefest of seconds, Rachel's smile slips. "Well, this is where things become _complicated_ –" Blaine raises an eyebrow at this, because _really_? – "after Quinn clouded Finn's judgment with her … her _harpy _ways, and then savagely dumped him a mere three months later, Finn's academic performance understandably suffered, and his parents decided it'd be best for him if he refrained from seeing girls socially for his senior year."

Blaine knows it's stupid before he says it, but really, what other reason could there be – "So he's going to date guys instead?"

"No, no, no!" Rachel sounds positively scandalized by Blaine's suggestion, while Tina cracks up laughing. "They don't … he's not – you're not for _Finn_, Blaine, why would you ever think …?"

Rachel is too dismayed by the very thought to continue, so after a few more giggles Tina gains enough control over herself to explain, "She needs you to seduce his brother."

_... Oh_. Blaine blinks for a second as he slowly allows this new information to sink in.

He clears his throat delicately. "Finn's brother is … um. So he's …?"

"Capital G gay?" Tina grins around a carrot stick. "You bet."

Christ, what is _with _his insides today? First they're cramped up with nausea, now they're squiggling around obnoxiously at the mere _mention _of a boy who might be …

It's been a stressful morning, and Blaine honestly just can_not _with his hormones right now.

"Finn told me his stepdad said he can date again only if his brother does," Rachel adds, mistaking Blaine's glazed look for continued confusion. "Unfortunately, he's the only out kid in McKinley. Or at least he was, until you showed up."

Blaine doesn't bother to point out the fact he has yet to confirm the status of his sexuality; never mind what she's saying is completely true, but Blaine has the strangest feeling Rachel wouldn't really care either way.

"Aren't you being a bit presumptuous?" Blaine asks slowly, a frown beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth as he looks between the two girls. "I mean, other than the blatant fact you stereotyped me before you even _spoke _to me, you're assuming Finn's brother and I would automatically be compatible, based solely on the fact that we're the only two –" oh hell, who is he kidding? No point in delaying the inevitable – "openly gay students here. You know it doesn't work that way, right? I mean," he shakes his head with a slightly hysterical laugh, "I don't even know anything about him!"

"He's intelligent," Rachel says immediately, "top of most of his classes. Good-looking, too. Very well-groomed –"

"_Awesome _hair," Tina adds.

"Yes, his hair is a definite strong point," Rachel agrees with a frantic nod. "He's very fashionable, and tall, if you like that. Ooh, and slim! With lovely arms and very healthy skin –"

"A talented singer, too." Blaine perks up considerably at this. He can't help it; musicians with good hair are his Kryptonite. Tina must notice, because she enthuses, "His vocal range is incredible."

"Yes, well." Blaine turns back to find Rachel's smile's turned somewhat fixed. "I … suppose it's true he would do very well for himself if Glee didn't already have a classically trained soprano among its ranks –"

"He's in Glee club with you?" The eagerness in his voice would be highly embarrassing if Blaine had any sense of propriety left, but all that flew out the window the second he was publically manhandled into a lunch seat by two girls who are both significantly smaller than him, so. "You're close friends with him, then?"

For the first time since she introduced him to _the plan_, Rachel's winning smile falters.

"He's … um." Tina and Rachel share a glance. "He's a bit strong-willed."

"Confident," Rachel corrects through a painfully insincere smile. "Confident. And ... witty."

Blaine's sure he hears Tina mutter, "_Painfully _witty," and he feels it when Rachel kicks out at her under the table, because she hits _him_ instead, but Tina hurriedly adds, "Also very – uh, independent," before Blaine can do much more than wince.

"Independent, yes, good wording Tina!" Blaine wonders if he imagines the desperation beginning to bleed into Rachel's voice as she latches onto the description. She asks with a falsely bright trill, "Who doesn't love a man who knows how to look after himself, right?"

Blaine feels as if something is definitely off, and it only partially has to do with the creepy way Rachel's left eye has started twitching. Clearly, he's missing something. "Um …"

"I can make it worth your while," Rachel wheedles desperately. The crazy eye-glint from earlier has returned full-force. She clutches painfully onto his arm. "I have money saved up from an ill-thought out plan to fix my deviated septum last year. I'll pay for your dates, and gas money, and any and all future therapy sessions you may need –" Blaine pulls out of Rachel's grasp at this, because _what kind of school has his parents dumped him in, jesus_ – but she just clings to the tabletop instead, eyes wide and pleading. "Anything you want, I can get it for you. My fathers give me a generous weekly allowance; it'll be enough to support your clearly rigorous hair-care regimen for months. All I'm asking for is a date, a couple tastefully public make-out sessions … I'll even throw in extra for a dance at prom –"

"Oh my god, Rachel, I wasn't actually _serious _about the _Pretty Women _thing!" Tina groans, the same moment Blaine squawks, "I'm not up for – for _solicitation_," his indignant and highly scandalized voice projecting across to the next table over, where several girls in cheerleading outfits pause their conversation to stare at him.

Blaine sees their amused and judging glances, flushes to the tips of his ears, and continues in a much quieter voice, "You are _not_ paying me to seduce your ex-boyfriend's brother!"

"You make it sound so morally reprehensible," Rachel huffs, before rolling her eyes and allowing, "All right, all right, no monetary bribery." She pauses, then perks. "What about solos?"

Tina grabs his shoulder urgently, "Don't listen to her, it's a trap!" but Rachel pretends not to hear.

"You say you were a lead singer at your last school?" At Blaine's hesitant nod, she continues, "Well, _I_ happen to have great influence in the song choices for our club; if you join Glee I can guarantee you thr … – one … – _an audition _for a maybe solo/probable duet during our competition season."

Blaine would be lying if he said the offer wasn't tempting. Though it's become strikingly obvious to him Rachel has lost most of her grip on sanity, and entering into any sort of arrangement with her would probably lead to the ultimate loss of his soul, Blaine loves to perform. The opportunity to be back on stage – the one place he feels comfortable to be himself, and is secure in his abilities – so soon after leaving his faithful Warblers, is a difficult one to pass up.

But he still hesitates, ducking around Rachel's pleas and bargaining and thinly-veiled threats as she and Tina help him relocate his locker after lunch. Never giving a definitive no, but never outright agreeing, either. But really, who could blame him? It was a risk, agreeing to put himself out there for a girl he barely knew, from a school he'd spent all of four hours in, especially when Rachel had made it clear that she would happily shove him off a bridge if it guaranteed her a kiss with her beloved Finn.

Plus, what she was asking from him was _a lot_. Like, huge. It wasn't just dating, but actually _dating_. With a _boy_. A boy with nice hair and wit. Which was, embarrassingly, not something Blaine has had a lot of experience with. Which wasn't something he was ready to broadcast, either. He'd be taking his relationship incompetence to the grave, _especially _with Rachel Berry walking next to him, loudly listing his physical attributes to Tina, and scaring passing girls with demands of "look at his teeth! Would you want to lick them if you were a gay teenage boy? _Would you?"_

He is _really _missing that blazer.

"So, do we have a deal?" Rachel demands as the warning bell rings and they're ushered into the mass of rushing students.

Blaine glances over her shoulder at Tina, who gives him a little shrug.

"I really don't know, Rachel," he hedges, hitching his bag higher up on his shoulder as they turn the corner into a narrower hallway. "I'd like to help you out, really I would, but … I – I've never met the guy before. I don't even know his name –"

"Well, here's your chance to find out." And before Blaine can even process what Rachel's said, she's grabbing him by the scruff, calling out a shrill, "Hey, Kurt Hummel!" and shoving Blaine into the tall, pale boy who glances up from his locker at the sound of his name.

In the seconds before the two boys collide and fall into a heap in the middle the crowded floor, Blaine is able to ascertain two things. One: he will kill Rachel Berry. Two: Kurt Hummel has the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

In fact, Blaine ponders, as they hit the ground with two audible _oofs_, Blaine sprawled on top of Kurt and their bags and possessions skittering everywhere; they're the same color as the ones the boy who flicked him off in the parking lot had –

Oh. Oh … oh _hell_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I have way too much fun with Rachel Berry.

Please take the time out to review! Would love to see what everyone thinks so far!


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